The New Girl
by aszecsei
Summary: GLaDOS doesn't run Aperture Laboratories. Instead, Gladys is a student at Aperture Junior College. When a selectively mute transfer student arrives, she finds herself gaining respect and attraction for her new classmate. But can Michelle bring down Gladys's walls, or will the verbally abusive girl push her away? No self-inserts or OCs: a high school story done right.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Before the story begins, I have a bit of a disclaimer: this is one of the dreaded "Characters From _ In High School" stories.  
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**Before you close the tab, let me explain a few things. I knew when I started writing this that I'd have a hard time getting past the reputation this type of story has gained. For the most part, these types of stories consist of hordes of self-inserts, legions of Mary Sues, and a plague of Bad Grammar. These are all things that are terrible, which is why (at this point in time) I have no OCs, my self-insert lives halfway around the world and never shows up in the story, and...well...bad grammar is purely incidental, since I don't have a beta. I want to write this type of story, and I don't want to fall back on the idea that a fanfic cliche excuses bad writing.  
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**So, please, take a risk. Read this first chapter at least. If you hate it, and you feel I have ruined my fanfiction innocence, then review and tell me never to speak of this story again. But if you think it's not half bad, and I avoid the traps that befall most fanfic authors, let me know.**

* * *

When the announcement is made, I turn my head to look at the new arrival, as does most of the school. She's fairly pretty - black hair, exotic features - and just when I'm set to dismiss her as just another new student, I hear the phrase "selective mutism" and my attention is immediately drawn back.

She moves through the cafeteria, looking for a place to sit, when Rick approaches her. He's one of the popular football players at Aperture Junior College; I dated him for a few weeks. When he tried to grope me, I soldered his braces to the wall. It marked the end of our relationship, and when he finally managed to get free, word got around that I was a crazy bitch.

Which I am, of course.

"Hey, there," Rick says. The new girl looks at him questioningly. "I'm Rick. You're gonna want to sit with me and my friends."

The girl looks at his table, which is filled with strapping football players and cheerleaders who have breasts larger than their brains. She tries to move past him.

"What's wrong?" Rick asks, trying to block her way. The girl rolls her eyes and shoves him to the side. One corner of my mouth twitches in appreciation.

"She's hot," comments Pendleton. He still has a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth, ignored in favor of watching the new girl.

I sigh in irritation and kick him under the table. "Moron. Just because she doesn't talk doesn't mean she can't hear perfectly well."

I ignore Pendleton's muttered "I am not a moron," and watch as the new girl continues walking through the cafeteria. Her gaze lands at my table, and my burgeoning appreciation for her nose-dives when she makes her way in my direction.

"She's coming this way," Pendleton says excitedly, and I kick him again. It's obvious that she's going to try to sit by me, and the last thing I need is someone else who thinks that I'm their "friend."

_Please don't sit down_, I think repeatedly, _please walk by_.

She sits down at my table, of course.

"You're Michelle, right?" asks Pendleton, as soon as she's halfway into her seat. He doesn't get an answer, of course, and continues anyway. "I'm Pendleton, and these are my friends Doug and Gladys."

"We're not friends," I say. I've tried saying it before, and I doubt he'll listen this time, but hopefully Michelle will get the message and go away. "You're a moron who insists on occupying space near me."

I don't even bother talking about Doug, who's currently mixing whispering and humming into an off-key song that not even a mother could love. He's eating with one hand, and holding a plush cube in the other. Doug's a paranoid shit, who only sticks around me for Pendleton's sake. I scare a lot of people – I'm the crazy bitch of Aperture Junior College, after all – and Doug's more scared of me than most, which says a lot about how much he likes Pendleton.

I once again ignore Pendleton's denials and turn back to Michelle, who's doing nothing but looking at me. I decide to make myself clear. "And you're just a mute lunatic. So go away."

She doesn't budge, just smiles and starts eating, and I groan, turning to Pendleton.

"Maybe she really is deaf," I tell him, and he nods.

"She's hot, though," he says, and I kick him again.

* * *

The girl follows me when I leave the cafeteria, like she's a duckling following its mother. I get pretty frustrated when she follows me down two flights of stairs and through seven different corridors, and eventually turn.

"Do you have nothing better to do than follow me around? Because I have actual classes to go to - you know, since I'm a normal person who can talk."

Michelle stands there. I'm impressed despite myself - not many people are willing to put up with my verbal abuse. It doesn't mean I like her at all, though. Definitely not. Being better than worthless trash isn't very impressive, after all.

"Maybe you should find some friends to hang out with. Oh, right. You don't have any."

She still doesn't leave.

I'd enjoy her tenacity were it directed elsewhere. As it stands, it's simply annoying. There's no way I like the fact that she can stand up to me. I don't like anyone.

"Did your parents abandon you? Do you expect me to take care of you?" I ask. "Because I won't. I don't care about you. I don't even like you."

She doesn't move.

"Did you know that birds feed their children their own vomit? I wouldn't even do that for you if you were a bird. I would shove you out of my nest and laugh as you were eaten by wolves. So _go away_."

The minute-bell rings, and I give up, turning around and stalking off towards my next class, ignoring the shadow I've obtained.

Did I say "give up?" I meant "try a different approach." I'm not about to let some mute lunatic beat me in anything, after all. But the instructor should be able to tell Michelle where she needs to go, and I'll finally be free of her unwanted presence.

Plus, this next class is Science. And as much as I may hate other people, science is the best thing I've ever studied.

* * *

The science teacher is Cave Johnson, a thin man with long sideburns and who uses his entire body to talk when he gets excited about his subject. He stalks the front of the room when he lectures, rarely using the whiteboard or the projector, preferring to let his speech stand on its own. Somehow it's more memorable than any visual aids other teachers love to use.

Unfortunately, he makes no comment when the new girl sits in the front row.

"The administrators told me that the classroom was not a place to do experiments," he begins. "Which gave me an idea: do some more experiments in the classroom!"

He motions to a lit Bunsen burner on his desk, and a bowl of _something_ next to it. A straw sticks out of the bowl.

"I've been fabricating this for a few weeks, and I think it's ready to show you. I'm pretty sure the reaction's stabilized. If it hasn't…you'll know. Especially you in the front row."

He sucks through the straw to bring the powder into it, and then rotates it until it's pointing at the flames. He makes an exaggerated inhalation through his nose, and then jerks forwards without warning. Half the class jumps, and the other laughs. Except for Michelle – who's just sitting there, smiling.

Then, without warning, he blows through the straw. The powder flows through the flame, ignites, and then scatters, forming a cloud of flame in front of the straw.

Michelle doesn't bat an eye even as the flames come within a foot of her face. Despite myself, I'm impressed by her stoicism in the face of our science teacher's makeshift flamethrower.

"Alright, you've got your labs set up in the back. Make sure you don't get this stuff in your mouth. Not entirely sure why, but if you can't get the taste of feces out of your mouth, I warned you."

Usually I work alone during science. There are an odd number of students, and nobody wants to partner with the crazy bitch. Unfortunately, Michelle's just become my new lab partner. I let her have the straw first. Then, when she messes up, I can make sure I don't make the same mistake.

She doesn't inhale too much, which is mildly disappointing. Even if I'm pretty sure Mr. Johnson was kidding about the powder tasting like feces, it's probably not the best thing to have in your mouth. She turns to the Bunsen burner and exhales sharply. The flames shoot from the straw, and get inches away from the back of our nearest neighbor before dissipating.

"Hey!" the neighbor shouts, and I can hardly keep the grin off my face when I see that Michelle has already rolled the straw over to me, neatly diverting the blame. I won't get in trouble, of course, but the deviousness is still very much appreciated.

I might have misjudged the rest of the human race.

* * *

**A/N 2: Pendleton was one of Valve's first-draft names for Wheatley, by the way. Hopefully this fic isn't as awful as most of the others I've had the misfortune of reading.****  
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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You lot are great. I'm super pleased with the response; I figured I might get two or three positive reviews and five reviews consisting entirely of the words "YOU SUCK", caps lock intentional. Instead I get ten reviews that are positive and thoughtful. You guys seriously rock.**

**Super-long author's note at the bottom.**

**We go further away from standard HS fic fare here. Trigger warning for physical violence and the insults get ramped up to 11 (less funny, a lot more cruel). I'm finding myself feeling strange about this chapter; I know I wanted it to go here, but now that I've done it I'm worried. But I figure I should bite the bullet and post.  
**

* * *

When school ends, I take the bus to my mother's workplace, Black Mesa Technologies. It's a scientific conglomerate that spans the country; my mother works there as a geneticist. Apparently she's gotten a new coworker, because when I open the door marked "Caroline Mathias" and enter her office, she introduces me as one of her earliest and longest-lasting test tube experiments.

It's a common work joke for a geneticist, good for a cheap laugh, but I'm not entirely certain she's joking anymore. My mother doesn't talk about my father, and whenever any of her male coworkers ask her out, she claims she's already married – to science. Another joke that might not actually be a joke at all.

No question as to where I got my sense of humor.

"This is Greg," she introduces. "He's replacing Frank."

"What happened to Frank?" I ask. I don't actually care, but it seems polite.

"Oh, he walked into a transmatter reduction beam. Vaporized instantly, I'd assume. There wasn't any screaming, at least."

"Doesn't that seem…unsafe?" asks Greg. "To walk into something without knowing what will happen?"

Everyone has a different response to idiots. My mother ignores them completely.

"But we did learn _not_ to walk into the transmatter reduction beams, so that's something," she finishes, ignoring Greg.

* * *

It likely comes as no surprise that the closest relationship I have with anyone is with my mother. So when I say that I'm surprised by her reaction to the news of my newest hanger-on, it means quite a bit more than if anyone else were to be surprised by a family member. Usually I can anticipate her response to anything I tell her.

"What the _fuck_ is he doing here?" she growls.

There are a number of reasons why this reaction is surprising. For one, Michelle is female - and I quite clearly stated her gender. For another, there is no reason I can think of for her response to be so extreme. My mother very rarely curses, not for any sense of propriety, but simply because she feels that swears lose meaning when used too often.

"Who are you talking about?" I ask, because it is intuitively obvious that she is not talking about Michelle.

"Be _silent_," she says, and for once I am shocked into silence. This is the second time in less than thirty seconds that my mother has taken me by surprise. As a scientist, she usually welcomes questions, as long as the answers aren't obvious.

She takes a few breaths, thinking about something. I don't know what.

It's no secret that I hate people. I hate when they miss things that are obvious to me. But I also hate _not knowing_ something.

This is the first time that I have found myself hating my mother, and I find that unsettling. Michelle has just stretched her disruptive fingers into my home life, and I briefly visualize strangling her, watching her silently plead for breath.

Then the murderous flash is gone.

My mother doesn't say anything to me for the rest of the night, and I find myself hating her just a little bit more for it.

* * *

I take it out on Pendleton the next day, of course. Every sentence out of his mouth is greeted by a response as biting as I can form. Doug tries to work up the courage to stop me, but fails, as usual.

He's a failure, a fucking headcase. His schizophrenia will prevent him from ever being worth anything. He and Pendleton belong together, two losers who'll never amount to anything.

I see Michelle for the first time when I'm on the way to the bathroom. She's walking to her locker; I briefly wonder if she's got a free period or if she's been skipping class. Then my mind goes back to last night. I feel like an outsider in my own mind. I don't see red, or anything as cliche as that. I feel cold, calmer than I've ever felt before. I realize that _this_ is what rage is, not red or hot or any other meaningless fucking metaphors. It's this detachment that allows me to slam her against a locker with my forearm pressing into her throat.

Her eyes go wide with surprise and a little bit of fear, but she doesn't make a sound. I _want_ her to say something. I want her to realize that it's all in her head, she's not actually mute, and she's being a stupid fucking cow. I want her to say something because then I know I'll stop caring about anything to do with her.

"Tell me to stop, you bitch," I hiss in her face. "Fucking say something, or I swear I'm going to fucking kill you."

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she punches me in the kidney.

It doesn't have much force behind it; she can't get much leverage given how much I've pressed her into the lockers. But it breaks me out of whatever trance I'm in, and I pull away from her, letting her take in a gasping breath, followed by a fit of coughing. Her hands go to her throat in some unconscious reaction that likely does absolutely nothing to help her.

"I hate you," I tell her as my heart slows down. I haven't realized just how fast it's been pounding, and in the back of my mind I wonder how it can be going so fast when I've felt so calm.

Her response is to kick me hard in the shin, and I grin despite myself, despite the pain in my leg. This feels good. It's refreshing, when everyone else just puts up with my shit, to find someone who will fight back.

She glares at me, and I can almost hear what she means: "Don't do that again."

I shrug in response. "If you're looking for promises, go fuck yourself."

She snorts, and walks off down the hall. I watch her for a few seconds, then I suddenly remember just how badly I need to piss.

* * *

Lunch is strangely awkward.

I'm a bitch. A self-centered, heartless bitch who doesn't give a shit about anyone else. I don't do guilt.

But when Michelle shows up to lunch with a bruise forming across her neck and some paper-towel covered ice in one hand, whatever feeling I have - that's certainly not guilt, definitely not - makes conversation stilted and awkward around her.

"What happened to you?" asks Pendleton, staring shamelessly at the mark.

Michelle doesn't answer verbally, she just bites her lip and winks coquettishly at him. He flushes bright red and doesn't question anymore.

Doug is more astute; he glances at the bruise and then looks at me, eyes flicking down. While he might be looking at my tits, I doubt it. As far as I know he's not even slightly interested in sex. More likely he's looking at my forearm, comparing it to the bruise on Michelle's throat. And as much of a nutcase as he is, he's also fairly smart. I'm fairly certain he's already reached the correct conclusion.

He glares at me before he realizes I'm looking at him, at which point he shrinks on himself and goes back to whispering to his plush cube. I probably don't have to worry about him. As long as his fear of me overpowers his dislike, he won't say anything.

Even if he does, I can switch schools. I've done it before, and I'll probably do it again.

Even as Pendleton blathers on about his usual moronic fare, the usual cutting remarks don't come to me. I should be talking about how stupid the television shows he incessantly talks about are. I should be quipping about his substandard IQ, laughing at his repeated denials.

Instead, my gaze returns to Michelle's neck against my will, watching the lightly purpled skin slowly return to normal.

As much as I tell her I won't make promises, I find myself absolutely certain that I will not let myself get that far out of control again. As much as I hate her, I find myself hating the idea of not having her even more.

* * *

**A/N 2: Several things I want to say here, so if you're uninterested in my soapboxing, feel free to skip.**

**Authors always seem to talk about characters taking a life of their own. Add me to the list, readers, because I did NOT see Caroline becoming important to the story. Originally she was there as a sort-of response to CB's review. Then she started taking over. Now she's pretty much integral to the plot. It's another incentive to review: you may actually end up fucking my plans over and making the story change. Great.**

**One thing that I should get out of the way is that Gladys and Michelle will get it on. Michelle will not speak, she will not start writing notes to Gladys in order to communicate. The closest she will get are the "looks" that Gladys will interpret, which is not a _real_ means of communication. This means that dubcon is pretty much inevitable.  
**

**Please be aware that in real life, this would likely be considered rape. One of my best friends had this happen to her. I thought everyone knew it, but apparently not, so I feel I should say it clearly: _if your partner does not clearly consent to sex, it is rape._ Consent is not "he or she looked like she was enjoying it." Consent is not "he or she didn't say no." Consent is your partner saying something to the effect of "I want to have sex with you at this time."**

**On a topic that isn't quite as serious, I do know what I'm talking about as far as choking. Most of the time when people think of "choking" they think of squeezing the throat. This actually restricts blood flow, and causes the person being choked to pass out. Pressure restricts air flow without cutting off circulation, lengthening the time before unconsciousness. The more you know...**

**Yes, I made a Firefly reference. Deal with it.**

**Tl;dr: I'm a self-absorbed author who can talk about the writing process as though I know what I'm doing, sex without consent is rape and should not happen, and I know more about choking than is probably healthy.**

**Extra-special review thanks to 1Past and Present1, Her Little Doll, CB, Neko, and DramurKopa. As much as reviews are beautiful, yours were super pulchritudinous.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I haven't played any of the Half Life games, so I have no idea about the canon personality of one of the characters introduced in this chapter. I really don't even know his personality in this fic yet, to be honest.  
**

* * *

Whoever invented the parent-teacher conference was an idiot. The intersection of the set of kids who _need_ their parents to show up and the set of kids who have parents _willing_ to show up is so small that the whole thing is useless. Usually I can tell this to my mother as we stay home and laugh at all the insecure parents.

Not this time.

This time, for some reason, my mother insists on attending.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because," she responds, "I want to see what exactly he thinks he's doing."

I don't ask who "he" is, or even why my mother assumes "he" will be at the parent-teacher conference. Chances are, I'll find out for myself soon enough, and I've always preferred direct study to secondhand information.

* * *

I see Michelle and her father before we visit Mr. Johnson. He's an older man, with green-gray eyes and a goatee. Michelle stands apart from him, and if it weren't for his introduction, I would not have thought that they knew each other at all.

"Hello," he introduces when I approach Michelle. "I'm Wallace Breen, Michelle's father." He looks at me, and then at my mother, and then he smiles. "Ah, you must be Caroline's daughter! I'd forgotten that you would be the same age as my Michelle."

I find myself disliking him intensely. His words are bland, normal introductions, but the way he talks is simultaneously insincere and vaguely malicious.

"Yes," I say, "Although I must say that I wouldn't have pegged you as her father; Chell doesn't look like you at all."

It's designed to strike at the connection between father and daughter, which I can already tell is strained; implying that not only do I know Michelle - Chell, now - well enough to have given her a nickname, but that they don't even have the bond of a similar appearance.

He doesn't react with anything other than aplomb. "Ah, no, she's my adopted daughter," he says, still smiling. He reaches to her shoulders and gives her a sideways hug. Chell doesn't respond, and her eyes flick upwards, one of her signs of annoyance. "I love her as though she were my own, of course," he finishes.

"I would say you love her more than you'd love your own child, really," my mother interjects. "It's quite sweet."

As Mr. Breen begins to respond, I grasp Chell's free hand and lead her away, taking advantage of his distraction. Once we are a sufficient distance that our conversation will be private, she raises an eyebrow at me.

"Congratulations," I reply. "You've now got a nickname."

She rolls her eyes at me.

"Never mind that," I say. "I didn't know you were adopted. Did your parents give you up when they realized what a terrible person you were, or did they anticipate it when they saw your horrifying face as a baby?"

She rubs her face with one hand in obvious exasperation.

My next salvo is cut off by a loud crack. I turn and see my mother, arm outstretched, and Mr. Breen's head turned with a reddening hand print on his cheek.

_Did she just slap Chell's dad?_

"Come along, Gladys," she says, turning and walking away. "We're done here."

"You should come and visit us sometime, Gladys," says Mr. Breen as I begin to walk away. "I'm sure Michelle would love to have you over."

His mouth is still slightly curled in that ineffable smile as I follow my mother out of the room.

* * *

"I know what you were trying to do," my mother tells me on the drive home. "I've seen you do it to a lot of people, but believe me when I tell you that Wallace Breen is more dangerous than you know. You need to stay away from him."

"Dangerous how?" I ask.

"You gave away far too much," Caroline says. "Now he knows how much you care about Michelle, and he'll use that."

"Use that? She's his daughter, not some tool."

For a moment, my mother looks as though she is about to say something. Then, she shakes her head, closes her mouth, and continues to drive.

* * *

I go to Mr. Johnson's classroom instead of heading home after school. He's packing up collected homework from his latest class when I enter.

"Gladys!" he booms, smiling. "It's good to see you. Most of the students who show up after school are trying to get a better grade than they deserve. But I know you, and that can't be it. You know you're doing well in class already. So, why are you here?"

"I wanted some advice," I say.

There are only two adults I've ever trusted in my life. My mother, and Cave Johnson. Since my mother is acting strangely, Mr. Johnson is my resource of choice.

"Advice?" asks Mr. Johnson, hopping onto the table. "What about?"

"You know Chell - I mean, Michelle?"

He nods, not breaking eye contact.

"She's..." I sigh, running a hand through my hair, searching for the right words. "I like her. She's different, you know? Not an idiot like everyone else."

"A lot of people are stupid," Mr. Johnson says after a short pause. "It's the way they're built. It's frustrating. I've only known two other people as smart as I am. You're one of them." His eyes slide off my face. "The other...did I tell you how I came to be working at this place?"

I shake my head.

"I had great goals when I was younger," he says. "My dad taught agriculture, and I wanted something _more_. So I decided that I wanted to start up my own company, do research. I knew a scientist, a beautiful, intelligent woman, and I wanted to found a company with her. Maybe even start courting her."

"What happened?" I ask.

"She got married," Mr. Johnson shrugs. "Started working at her husband's company a few days later. I gave up on my company, started teaching here instead. After a few years, the happy couple got divorced, and her husband got fired from the company."

"Have you kept in contact with her?"

He smiles at me, a little sadly. "I gave up on that dream a long time ago," he says. "My point is, she was brilliant, and I loved her. And when she married Wallace Breen, she ruined me. I'm here, teaching class after class of stupid little idiots because of her. So you'd better be sure that Michelle won't do that to you before you fall any further in love with her."

"Who was she?" I ask. As my mother said, Wallace Breen is dangerous. Any information I can gather about him will better prepare me for any later confrontation.

Mr. Johnson looks at me. "She was Caroline Breen, but after the divorce, she took her maiden name. Her name is Caroline Mathias...your mother."

"...that doesn't strike you as a little bit contrived? You and Breen have a competition over my mother, they get divorced, and now I'm lusting after Breen's daughter? What's next, the revelation that you're my father?"

Johnson laughs. "Believe me, I was as surprised as you when his daughter showed up. And no, you're definitely not my kid. I never got a chance with Caroline before Breen got his hooks into her."

* * *

"You never told me you were married," I state.

My mother looks at me and rolls her eyes. "I forgot the part of being a parent where you have to divulge every detail of your life, unsolicited, to your children," she says. "Yes, I was married to Wallace Breen. We divorced after a few years after I found out what a greedy, sociopathic asshole he was."

"Is that why you don't want me around him?" I ask. "You're still the bitter divorcee after all these years?"

She stares at me, suddenly angry. "You listen to me, Gladys. That man destroys everything he touches, and comes out smelling like roses. He will take everything from you that he wants, and then leave you to rot. I'm not telling you to stay away from his daughter, because we both know how well that would turn out, but you _must_ stay away from Wallace Breen."

She goes back to making chicken casserole, an obvious end to our conversation.

* * *

"Whoa," Pendleton says. "I knew about your mom slapping him in the middle of parent-teacher conferences - I mean, everyone knows, really - but your mom was married to _her_ dad!" He points to Chell. "Maybe you're actually sisters, like in that one movie! Separated over the years, it is now your task to bring your parents together in love and -"

"One," I say, "that's disgusting. Two, that's not possible, since Chell was _adopted_. Three, that's a _terrible_ idea. My mom hates her dad's guts."

"So did Lohan's parents!" Pendleton defends.

I don't bother with a response to that.

* * *

Seeing Mr. Johnson again makes me remember why I originally went to him in the first place: figuring out what I'm going to do about Chell. I've never been one for self-deception. Maybe it's because I've never had a problem with lying to anyone else, or maybe it's because lying to yourself is a stupid idea and I hate stupidity. For whatever reason, I'm certainly not going to pretend as though I don't have a crush on Chell.

A crush that's steadily growing.

The only question is, what am I going to do about it? I could ignore her, pretend that she means nothing to me. It's easy to do.

_I'm a crazy bitch_, I remind myself._ I don't let other people matter_.

Except I already have. Chell _means something_ to me, and that scares the shit out of me. Love for my mother forced Cave Johnson into abandoning his dreams; what if Chell did something as awful to me?_  
_

Class ends while I'm still debating, and I absently pick up my backpack.

_I'm a crazy bitch_, I realize. _I don't do safety, and pretending that Chell doesn't mean anything to me is taking the safe route_.

I hurry from the room, grab Chell's arm, and press her against the lockers in an eerie parody of my actions a few days ago. Now, however, I'm anything but rage-fueled. I slam my mouth into hers, force my tongue between her lips and plunder her. She's shocked into stillness for a few seconds before her hands come up to grab my shirt and pull me closer. She retaliates, trapping my tongue and pressing her own into my mouth, using the tip to explore my gums, the roof of my mouth. It's a war in which dominance is the only prize; no matter who wins, it's pleasurable for the both of us.

When she moans into my mouth, I'm drawn back into reality: and now I can hear the wolf-whistles of the teenaged boys around us, staring unabashedly. I raise one hand and flip them off before disengaging from the kiss.

Chell is breathing hard, her cheeks flushed, and I have a brief moment of primal pride in her reaction. _I did this._

"I'll send you details for our date later," I tell her. Then I smirk. "And do try _not_ to embarrass me. I know it will be difficult for you not to act like a drooling idiot, but I'd rather not have to deal with that sort of behavior from you _constantly_."

She sticks her tongue out at me.

* * *

**A/N: Blarg. We finally get some ChellDOS...but it means I'm going into uncharted territory as far as my writing goes. I've never actually written romance before - I think this might be the first kiss I've written about in detail (plus I haven't had the best experience with snogging in real life - it's tended to be cold and slimy rather than, well, sexy). So, if you lot have any suggestions, hit me with them. Please.**

**And yes, the movie is _The Parent Trap_. When I was plotting this out, the similarities sorta jumped out at me, and I was just "Well, Pendleton _would_ watch that movie."**


End file.
